


hold me now (til i gain control again)

by mellerbee (orphan_account)



Series: long time running - d/s verse [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mellerbee
Summary: They beat the Wild 3-0.The win shocks something out of Charlie, something vulnerable and small. The adrenaline of beating his former team, of being in the city, sends him in a downwards spiral he really hopes no one notices. It's the kind of thing you leave behind in juniors - going under from a hard game.
Relationships: Charlie Coyle/Chris Wagner
Series: long time running - d/s verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1291856
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	hold me now (til i gain control again)

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "d/s fic idea what about a sub coming back to the hotel after a scene with a random who didn't give him much aftercare and dropping HARD and one of the doms on the team taking care of him"
> 
> a thousand thank you’s to luna for making my writing legible, and the group chat for listening to me ramble about this and hyping me up when i needed it. you guys are the best.

They beat the Wild 3-0.

While it’s a nice return to the place that had been his home for so many years, there’s a certain amount of realization of what he’s  _ gained _ since he left. Eric shoves his shoulder during a TV break, asks  _ miss us yet? _ . In the moment, Charlie just laughs, but upon reflection he realizes, no. There isn’t much he misses at all.

Regardless, the win shocks something out of him, something vulnerable and small. The adrenaline of beating his former team, of being in the city, sends him in a downwards spiral he really hopes no one notices. It’s the kind of thing you leave behind in juniors - going under from a hard game. 

For those reasons, he doesn’t do much to rationalize sneaking out of the hotel once everyone is in their rooms, call one of his old hook-ups, meet him at the same bar downtown. He shouldn’t say sneak out, really. It’s not like he tries to hide it. Not like he has to. There’s no restrictions here on who he can scene with, and as long as it’s not affecting his game he can stay out as long as he’d like. 

That’s not to say he  _ wants _ that. There’s a traitorous part of his mind that wonders how nice it would be to have those rules, to have someone watching out for him. All he has to do is ask. Of course, that’s the impossible part. 

He’s gotten this far in his career without relying on anyone, he can make it the handful of months until the offseason on his own. 

There’s a bar downtown that’s inconspicuous enough that the media won’t find him, with a wealthy clientele that either won’t recognize him, or won’t care. Those are the best kind of places, he’s learned. While you have better luck in cities like New York and Los Angeles, there’s at least one club of the sort in every road city.

The bartender recognizes him, because of course he does. Not as Charlie Coyle the hockey player - just a guy with terrible luck and a tendency for being easy. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse. 

The look he gives Charlie is pure pity. Charlie does his best to ignore it.

He picks his way to the furthest table in the back, a beer on the table already waiting for him. He’s only met with James one or two times, and he was always nice. Tonight is apparently no different. Charlie politely turns down the drink and readily agrees the second James asks to take him home.

James asks him what he wants, which is considerate enough. Charlie, who’s primed for a bad decision in every way, tells him he’ll do whatever he wants. That’s how it’s going to be. 

Of course, he’s kept from James the fact he’s a professional hockey player, for safety’s sake, so James has no idea what to avoid, things that would inhibit his game, and Charlie’s far too gone already to say no to anything.

Pain isn’t something he’s particularly into, but it’s nice on the rare occasion, with the right person. 

A random late night hookup absolutely isn’t the right person. 

James is earnest when he asks, though, and has always known what he’s doing before, so Charlie says okay to the flogger. James says he’ll stop if he says so, and even if it’s a low bar, it does some to ease Charlie’s nerves. Not negotiating anything else about the scene is a red flag Charlie blows right past, upgraded to a flashing red light when James doesn’t even ask for his safewords. 

Even so, Charlie’s in no place to argue, so he lets it happen. He’s crying too hard to count the blows at one point, but James doesn’t let up, just tells him he’s gorgeous and keeps going. His mind must slip away because for a while he can imagine it’s Chris above him, instead, and that makes it easier to handle. 

Then the blows stop and the pain dulls out, and Charlie thinks no, Chris would never push him this far, would never do something he wasn’t 100% sure they both wanted. The realization just makes him cry harder. James must think he’s crying because of his dick, which is mediocre at best, because he groans and comes. He jerks Charlie off much too rough for his liking, and his orgasm doesn’t make him feel better at all. He just feels cold.

He wasn’t planning on sticking around for much aftercare, if it were his own decision. Still, it feels so much crueler when he isn’t given the choice, to just be wiped down mechanically with a rough cloth and then practically shoved back into his clothes. James slams the door behind him, the sound of it echoing on the empty street. 

Charlie ends up sitting on the goddamn curb, trying desperately to choke back tears. It’s definitely in the top 3 of most pitiful situations he’s put himself in. All his own fault, really, this time no different. With all the good that’s been happening to him recently, maybe he just needed some balancing out. 

Nothing he can’t handle, he reminds himself. He’ll call a cab, get back to his hotel room, take a hot shower and crash the second his head hits the pillow. He’s done his own aftercare before. He can’t embarrass himself in front of his new team, so he’ll pull through it, same as he always has. No big deal.

Apparently, it’s a fairly big deal. 

The driver looks vaguely concerned when he gets in, but thankfully doesn’t ask any questions. He’s able to choke out the hotel the team is at, and manages to keep his head above water for the time being. Everything  _ aches _ , between the game and the scene he just got out of. Sitting down fucking hurts. It’s embarrassing.

(He has half a mind to say Jason’s address instead, then stuffs that thought down pretty quick. That’d create more problems than it’s worth.)

He’s cycling through the steps from there when he gets to the lobby of the hotel, so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t even notice Chris at first. Chris notices him, though. He says something to him, but all Charlie can hear is his pulse hammering in his ears. There’s two options: run for the elevator and pretend this never happened in the morning, or give in and let Chris help him, which would be the rational option. The latter is becoming more and more appealing by the second.

In the end, he does neither. Just stands there frozen, bites his tongue to keep from saying anything embarrassing. Chris is over to him in an instant, though, taking his arm and already leading him over to the elevator. 

“‘M alright,” Charlie mutters to him, trying to keep his distance. It’s really no use, when Chris is right there. It was three in the morning last he checked his phone, and Chris has his glasses on like he just ran down. He’s so warm, and Charlie thinks it’d be alright by him to stay like this forever, let Chris take care of him. That would be nice.

“You sure about that?” Chris chuckles, sounding nervous. 

Charlie frowns. Why is Chris nervous? Is there something he can do to fix it? He pushes closer, but it’s counterintuitive when he shivers, his shirt brushing against his back and sending shivers of pain through him. He bites down on his tongue to not cry out. It  _ hurts _ , and he starts worrying about the possibility of missing a game due to - due to his own stupidity. 

“Whoa, Charlie,” Chris’s hands are on his shoulders, holding him steady, keeping him close. “Can you breathe for me?” he asks, and it’s in his dom voice, the one that has Charlie immediately drawing to attention.

He breathes out when he says to, harsh, heaving breaths, like he forgot how. Everything is blurry, like he’s underwater. Chris is holding him, but he’s still so far away. He tries to focus - Chris’s hands, his jacket sleeves against his sweating palms, the floor underneath his feet. It’s near impossible with how fuzzy his head feels. Not the good kind of fuzzy, either, where he knows he’s safe. Technically, he might be safe, but he can’t shake the fear. 

All of which he’ll realize the next morning. He’s far too gone right now to string together a coherent thought.

The chime as the elevator doors open doesn’t even register in his consciousness, just Chris pulling him out and into the hall. Charlie might be a fair bit taller and heavier, but it doesn’t feel like it when Chris is supporting most of his weight the whole way.

“You’re gonna be alright, ok buddy?” Chris soothes when they’re through the doorway, calming Charlie down immediately. “I’ve got you.”

He  _ does _ . Charlie’s eyes start to water when Chris sits him down on the edge of the bed, unzipping his jacket and untying his shoes with more gentleness than anyone’s shown him in ages. Charlie can feel the scratchy hotel sheets under his hands and it helps center him, just a little. 

“You’re helping with your clothes,” Chris orders next, voice serious. Charlie can’t help but shiver under the attention, and the shivering turns to shaking when taking off the jacket rubs against the developing marks on his back. His ass hurts, where he’s sitting, but that’s easier to ignore.

Chris guides his hands to the buttons of his shirt next. Clumsy hands attempt to undo the buttons, stumbling over the simple task until Chris takes over for him. Chris asks if it’s okay for him to help in getting his pants off, always considerate. Tears start to bead up again when earlier in the night pops into his memory, how harsh James was, how Chris was so much nicer to him. Chris has to prompt him again, and Charlie can only manage a shaky nod. 

“Why don’t you doze off, alright? I’ll get a snack and something to drink.” 

That sounds like an excellent idea to Charlie, he’s more tired than he thought, and even the hotel bed seems soft right now. His back twinges in pain when he lays down, but he can choke it down at the prospect of sleep. Even though it’s faded into a dull ache when he’s still, it’s enough to keep him up, until Chris takes notice.

“Charlie.” Shit, he’s never heard Chris’s voice like that before. It takes a second to place his attention, but when he tries to turn over and the muscles in his back flex, there’s no holding in the pained whine in response. 

Chris’s expression in the dim lamplight turns from borderline angry back to worried in an instant. He’s rushing over to him, tugging the sheets away from where they’re sticking to his reddened skin. “You let your hookup hit you, when you were out?” He traces featherlight touches over his skin, and even the simple touch makes Charlie want to squirm away.

“Yeah,” Charlie keeps his head turned the other way. He doesn’t want to see the look on Chris’s face, not sure if his anger or his concern would be harder to handle. He’s not ashamed, not exactly, but he’s still starting to regret it. Chris stops touching his back, instead moving to gentle touches along his sides, his shoulders, the back of his neck. The tension eases out of him, slowly but undeniably.

“What’d he use?”

“Just - just flogging,” he slurs out, pressing his burning face into the mattress. He thinks maybe he should be more ashamed, but it’s always been different with Chris, who seems to know him better than he knows himself, sometimes. 

There’s a heavy silence, sweat prickling up Charlie’s spine as he waits. Chris sighs, the noise of it echoing in the now silent room. Charlie wants to apologize, desperately, to do something, but his head is filled with fog and he can’t gather the coherence to say anything at all.

The bed dips when Chris sits down beside him, and there’s a hand in his hair, carding through his curls. “You’re really gone, aren’t you,” Charlie hears him say, but he thinks he’s mostly talking to himself, so he doesn’t bother replying. “You’re gonna be okay, alright?” he soothes, and Charlie - believes him. Completely. Then he asks if Charlie can sit up for him, and Charlie does that without question, too.

“You need some sugar before you go to sleep.” Chris orders, holding a bottle of apple juice with a straw up to him, the straw close enough so he can sip without much difficulty. “No gatorade, this is the next best thing.” Then he takes it away, and there’s a cracker being pressed to his lips, and Charlie chews as instructed. They go through that a couple times, with a few sips of water as well, before there’s a knock on the door. 

“Wha’s tha’?” Charlie asks around the straw in his mouth, squinting suspiciously towards the doorway. He’s coming back to himself, slowly, but that just means the exhaustion is setting in.

“Bergy said he’d bring over some cream for your back,” Chris explains, gently taking away the bottle of juice to put it down on the nightstand. “Are you gonna be okay while I go get it?”

While he has the thought to be annoyed that someone is going to know, he’s really in no place to argue, so he nods, curling up on his side in the meantime. 

Charlie must fall asleep for the brief moment Chris is gone, exhausted from the game and his predicament, because next thing he knows Chris’s hands are rubbing cream into the marks on his back, gentle as ever. Feeling safer than he has in months, he drifts off to sleep again.

-

Waking up beside Chris feels like a dream, until it quickly becomes apparent that it wasn’t. The night before comes rushing over Charlie like a goddamn freight train. 

He tries to calm himself down with steady breaths, counting as he goes, but he loses track and it turns to hyperventilating. The cream must have worn off overnight because his back feels like it’s being hit all over again, skin stretched too tight over his bones. 

Eventually, he gets himself in order enough to stumble out of bed, narrowly avoiding tripping over a suitcase and its contents strewn across the floor. He splashes cold water on his face in the bathroom, blinking back the hot tears prickling in his eyes. 

There’s only a single game before playoffs and he manages to fuck up like this, drop because he just  _ had _ to go home with a stranger, and fucking - make his teammate take care of him after. Almost worse that it’s Chris, who he wouldn’t mind staying with for a while, anyways. Who he’s had a thing for since he was 17 and in no way has gotten over.

Boston has been nothing but kind to him so far, but word in the NHL travels fast, and he’s heard stories. Other teams have benched players for similar incidents, and while none of the rumors were tied to the Bruins, it’s always possible.

No matter the team consequences, he still has to deal with himself. His disgust, his disappointment, all of it. He’s been in the league for seven goddamn years - he should be able to handle his dynamic better than that. Even hooking up with Zucker one last time would’ve been a better idea than what he did. It’s too late for that, though. Charlie has practice living with his mistakes.

Chris is a heavy sleeper, always has been, so it’s not much of a struggle to tug on his clothes and slip back to his own room. Not  _ much _ . His back is fucking killing him, slivers of pain slitting deep under his skin and making his eyes water. It makes him feel a little worse for ditching, but he can thank Chris on the plane, right? He’s not running from anything, he needs to pack anyways.

Packing and getting dressed is mechanical. He’s lived on the road for years, it’s easy as breathing. Running through every trick he knows to keep himself grounded is practically routine, too. He has the dregs of a tube of neosporin in his travel bag, and he slaps that on the skin of his back he can reach. It’s not the first time he’s done that, either.

It’s all fine until there’s a knock at the door. Which, okay, he saw that coming. He knows it’s Chris before he even yells through the door. You don’t take care of your sub friend for no other reason than you’re a nice person then let them avoid you the next day. Like Charlie is currently doing.

Charlie is just working through a lot, right now. 

“Are you overthinking things?” Chris says when he opens the door, in lieu of any greeting. 

“I’m thinking about things the exact right amount,” Charlie huffs, which he does actually believe, for the most part. He’s not going to  _ not _ panic after something like that, right?

“Alright.” Chris rolls his eyes at him, then bullies him back into the room after he looks him over, lack of shoes and unbuttoned shirt included. 

“I was getting to that,” Charlie says, only protesting a little bit. 

“And I’m getting to it now,” Chris tells him strictly, setting to work buttoning Charlie’s shirt. 

If the choice is out of his hands, Chris taking care of him in these mundane little ways is exactly what he wants. It’s nice, more than he could ever ask for. They’ve been skirting around that part of their friendship - beyond friendship? - for years on end. Last night just broke the dam right open. 

Then Chris kneels to grab his shoes, and Charlie can’t control his furious blush when he sits on the edge of the bed. “We should talk about last night,” Chris says, not looking up at him. Somehow that makes it all easier to handle.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie tells him, because it feels like the right thing to say. He sort of wants to cry. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

Even from the awkward angle, the shock is apparent on Chris’s face. He looks up at him, frowning. “You don’t have to apologize. Or thank me, or tell me anything you don’t want to. I just want to help, okay? That’s all.”

Charlie is for sure tearing up at this point. “You don’t want to know what happened?”

“Not if you don’t want to tell me right now. We can talk about that later.”

“I just - I should’ve been better.” That gets to the heart of it, really. No matter what, Charlie should always be  _ better _ . “I should have more control by now.”

“Charlie.” Chris leans back on his heels, looking suddenly much more serious. “You don’t control your dynamic, no one can do that. Every sub drops once in a while, right?” 

“When’d you get so mature?” He sniffs, more than a little choked up by now, bringing one hand up to brush away his tears.

“Before you did,” Chris says, which makes Charlie halfheartedly swat at him. “C’mon, bus soon. Don’t think I won’t leave your ass in Minnesota.” He pats his shoe before he stands up, grabbing his bag to head for the door.

“Thanks,” Charlie deadpans, getting up to follow him. 

Chris turns back to look at him. “I can get Bergy or Zee to tell you too, if you don’t believe me.”

“I can believe it from you,” Charlie says, which seems to placate him for now.

In the same elevator as last night, Chris politely doesn’t mention anything about it. Charlie, though, can’t settle the entire six floors down. They’re clearly not the last to the lobby, so Charlie grabs Chris’s wrist before he can go rejoin the group. “I know you said I didn’t have to, but,” he shifts his weight, nervous. “I wanted to thank you. For last night.”

Instead of saying anything, Chris pulls him for a tight hug. Charlie drops his bag and his coat to hug him back, burying his face into his shoulder and shedding a few more tears. For the minute or two it lasts, it feels like coming home.

-

The team plane is always an unfamiliar and terrifying situation when you join a new team. Charlie wouldn’t know first hand, but he’s heard. While no one has given him any direct reason to be nervous, everyone has their routine, their designated seat, and Charlie’s still a little hesitant weeks later. He’s been sitting with Chris, for comfort’s sake, but he knows Chris is usually a part of the poker playing group. 

For now, Chris is with him towards the front, in a quiet area not too far from the coaches, in front of Bergeron and Rask. It’s a little wild to be on an NHL team plane with a group of players you grew up watching, but Charlie thinks he does a good job at paying it no mind. 

Bergeron does not do a good job at paying anything no mind, which is sort of his thing, as the team dom. So of course he notices Chris fussing when they settle into their seats, considering he has at least a vague idea of what happened last night. He leans over the back of the seat when Chris is finally sitting, rather casually.

“You doing alright?” he asks in a low voice, probably so that the coaches couldn’t hear. 

Charlie takes a second to answer, enough that Chris nudges him, looking slightly worried. “Yeah,” he answers, belatedly. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t turn around, having already learned how that makes the pain in his back worse. The cream had rubbed off since last night, and if he concentrates, he could probably feel every individual lash again. Pain is a part of the NHL, though, and he’s had injuries before. He’ll be fine. Eventually.

“You sure?” Bergeron sounds - skeptical. 

At the same time, Chris realizes, and curses while he jumps up to grab his bag. 

“Forgot to put the cream back on this morning?” Bergeron asks, not judgemental, more understanding than anything. 

“I, uh, left in the morning.” Charlie purposefully doesn’t look at him.

Bergeron, thankfully, just hums in response and doesn’t push any further.

Chris kneels on the aisle seat, holding up the tube to him in an unspoken question.

“I promise you it’s far from the worst thing that we’ve all seen on the plane,” Bergeron offers. “No one will pay you any attention.”

After thinking about it for a second, Charlie nods, reaching to unbutton his shirt. Even if he hasn’t been here this long, he trusts his captains, he trusts Chris, he trusts this team. It’s much less of a shock than he thought it would be. 

Chris takes his shirt off for him, then sets to work in covering his back again. He’s as gentle as he was last night, but it still hurts in places where bruising has set in, enough that Charlie has to bite his lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. 

When Chris goes to wash his hands, Bergeron takes over the seat next to Charlie, holding up his shirt. “Is it okay if I help you?” he asks, softly.

Charlie lets him, trying not to show how overwhelmed he is by all the attention. His hands are gentle, carefully pulling the sleeves on and making sure it doesn’t stick too much to his back. “I wanted to tell you I won’t hold last night against you,” Bergeron tells him as he buttons the shirt. “And no one else would, either. I promise it’s not like that here. We all care about you, already.”

“Thanks,” Charlie says, for lack of a better thing to say. He thinks the point gets across.

Chris comes back to their row then, raising an eyebrow at someone else being in his seat, but waiting regardless. 

“I should check on David before we take off,” Bergeron gets back up, letting Chris back into his seat. “You guys tell me if you need anything, alright?”

Once he’s gone, Chris holds out one of his earbuds to Charlie. Charlie has no idea what the movie is they’re watching, but he’ll probably fall asleep on Chris’s shoulder anyways, so it’s okay.

They’re the last ones off the plane once they touch down at Hanscom, and Charlie doesn’t try to start up conversation or anything. Silence between them has never been boring, or awkward. It just - is. He wonders how he didn’t realize how much he missed this. The cold air bites at him and his shirt scratches against his back, but being anywhere with Chris is comfortable. 

-

“I meant it when I thanked you,” Charlie says in the parking garage, with a new bout of confidence. He’s loading his bags into the back of Chris’ car - the team set him up at a hotel for now, but haven’t gotten him a rental car yet, so Chris has been his chauffeur since the trade. They’ve made plenty of jokes about that.

Chris snorts. “I mean, I kinda hoped you did.” 

“Seriously. I could’ve ended up hurt, or something, if you hadn’t waited up for me. You didn’t have to take care of me like that, either, but you did.” Charlie avoids looking at him, and he’s definitely bright red by the time he’s said it. “You’re a good dom, and I’m lucky to have you around.”

“I was just doing the right thing.”

“Not everyone would’ve, that’s what I mean. Not everyone’s as nice as you are.”

“Yeah, but all the guys are, I swear.” Chris is frowning, arms crossed. “No one here would hurt you.”

“Chris.” Charlie grabs the lapel of his jacket. He’s probably never been this bold in his entire life. “I’m trying to be romantic, fuck. This is the part where you kiss me.”

Chris looks a little bit like a deer in headlights. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

“You’re fucking impossible.” Charlie shakes his head and kisses him himself. Chris gets with the program pretty fast after that, hooking his arms over his shoulders and pulling him closer against him. He’s breathless by the time Chris lets him go, flushed pink all the way back to his ears. 

“Is that what Minnesota does to nice Catholic boys?” Chris jokes, equally flushed and breathless.

Charlie folds in on himself, a little bit. “I, uh, don’t know what that was.”

“Oh, hey, woah.” Chris stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t mind, I needed a slap in the face there. You’re okay. Things are okay.”

“Thanks.” Charlie can smile at that, reassured. That’s all he needs sometimes - a little reassurance about things. Chris seems to be catching on already. “I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“I’ve waited years for a chance like this. Neither of us get to ruin things so easy, not on my watch.” Chris looks extremely determined, enough to make anyone believe him.

Charlie laughs at that, but lets Chris bully him into his car.

**Author's Note:**

> clarification: this takes place after the minnesota game at the end of last season, so before the last two installments in this series.
> 
> on tumblr at mellerbees.


End file.
